Thirty-Two
We’re up the top of a mountain.
Of course we are. Where else would we need boots and woolly knits in December?
Jed got Tallulah working and he drove us to the lookout, and then we climbed.
And it is cold up here. So cold it feels like snow. So cold my skin is tingling through layers of fleece and heavy denim. So cold I can see my breath puffing white in the air in front of me. So cold Patience is gripping my arms and leaning into me to try to keep warm.
Viggo would call it “frigid” or “biting” or, if he was in a particularly good mood, “brisk” or “bracing”.
I think of all those words as I hike along the track with my sister and my best friend. But the words that came out of my mouth are, “Ben Folds, it’s bloody freezing.”
“Now now, Connie-girl. Use your polite words,” Jed
